She's not the only one with high dating standards around here either. Everyone's got 'em. I once teased my Laurel's president that she needed a boyfriend and she scolded me for going against the proper authorities and trying to lead her down a path of destruction.
That's when I realized how much she really did need a boyfriend.
But we can't blame the teenagers. They're just doing what we say, and not what we did. And I think they're just saying what we say too.
On the bright side, we are teaching them how to wear the necessary masks and use the necessary rhetoric to face what lies ahead of them. Or should I say, to dodge what lies ahead of them.
Anyways, my 15-year-old has a girlfriend. But not the kind that goes against the proper authorities because he never actually uses the word girlfriend--he can't call a spade a spade. (Neither can my 13-year-old.)
His friends call her his "chica"--at least that's how they introduced me to her behind his back and against his will and without his consent while he was in the locker room after a recent basketball game.
I like her. She's nice. And cute. And she calls me Debbie. I'm not sure how to break it to her that my name is Dummy, but usually people figure that out on their own.
Over the weekend my son mentioned to us that he told his "chica" we are weird. Sooo weird is the way he phrased it, I believe.
"That's great," said my hub to me later as I was climbing into bed trying to pinpoint what evidence our son has against us. "I'm glad he told her."
That's all my hub could say. As if it was a compliment! As if he was genuinely thrilled that we are out of the closet.
My hub has no energy for masks. And rhetoric shmetoric. To him a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
(Granted, he doesn't have the most developed sense of smell. I mean to him weird smells the same as cool. As does odd, peculiar and strange.)
I tried to take my hub's approach, but I eventually got up enough gumption to tiptoe into my son's room while he was sleeping and confront him.
"Why do you think I'm weird? Huh? Huh? Huh?" I said. "I mean, I get why you might mistake your dad for a looney toon, but what about me? Is it because I don't read your texts or stalk you on Facebook? Is it because I don't give you a curfew? Just tell me if it is because I can give you a curfew. Don't think I can't. It's just that you're always home before midnight and . . ."
"Let him be," called my hub from the other room. "It's great he thinks we're weird."
"Is it because I carried you around inside me for 9 months then gave you life? That was a little strange, I confess. Or is it because I spend several hours a day cleaning your house and cooking your food and doing your laundry and driving you around and watching your basketball games and filming your basketball games? Or is it because I buy my own sweaters back from D.I. so I'll have enough money to buy your Nike socks? Is it? Is it? Is it? Huh? Huh? Huh?"
The more I talked, the clearer it became that he was right. I am off my rocker.
"No," he finally grunted. "It's because you leave the cap off the toothpaste."
"That's not weird," I told him. "That's gross." And then I loosened his neck from the headlock and went back to bed.
See what I mean? Kids these days don't know how to call a spade a spade.